Delirium, My Sweet
by The Tempted
Summary: Draco's Obliviate goes horribly wrong. He only wanted to erase Hermione's memory of him mending the Vanishing Cabinet. He only wanted to protect his secret. Panicked by his actions, he hides Hermione. Meanwhile, the others clamor at her being missing. D/H
1. Chasing Delirium

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: This takes place during Half-Blood Prince. Enjoy.

Draco Malfoy hated Mudbloods. Detested them. Loathed them. In fact, he found them so unutterably repulsive that it was necessary to purge and destroy any part of his clothing were it to accidentally brush up against a Mudblood. To Draco, that would be acting accordingly—not one bit overboard, because it in fact might even be one bit _under_board—and no sodding idiot could convince him otherwise. He was a _Malfoy_, after all, and Malfoys were bred to expect refinement in every aspect of their lives. That included having Mudblood-less clothing.

Given those obvious standards, Malfoy would have assumed that all the other Mudblood boundaries would have been clear. Speaking with, looking at, and Merlin forbid, touching—pretty much avoiding any form of contact with those bloody worthless creatures was something that Malfoy considered to be extremely important when it came to upholding his pristine reputation as Draco Malfoy. Even sharing a desk with a flobberworm would have been a more appealing encounter than having to sit beside any of the Muds.

Amazingly enough, the other sods just didn't get it. Especially those damn Hufflepuffs. And Ravenclaws. And Gryffindors. _Yes_. The Gryffindors were the worst of them all—Saint Potter and his weasel sidekick acting as if they own the bloody castle. Not to mention their Mudblood Granger.

Draco shuddered. A cold trail of dread passed down his back, cutting a hard path across his shoulder blades. No, it wouldn't do to contemplate _that _Mudblood. She was the bane of his existence. Any whiff of her—should it be her scent, her bushy hair, her voice, her face, her—blast it all, just any tiny _speck_ of Granger, should any of it come across Draco's path, his senses would shrivel up inside him like an ugly, heavy, dead thing and whatever remained of him would whittle away with the scraps of his pride. Because she made him feel heated—tainted, out of control. Merlin, the bloody woman sent him into a head-spinning, mind-numbing tail-spin. The term "head over heels" had never been so real to him before.

And all of that only made him hate her more. She was a Mudblood. Not something for him to lose his mind over. And bloody hell did he lose his mind over her.

Draco clutched his head. He was feeling a little queasy. He considered returning to his common room—the towering stacks of junk scattered about the room were never a comforting landscape for him—but he quickly dismissed that idea. No. The blasted Vanishing Cabinet was taking longer to mend than he'd expected. He could not afford any more interruptions. He loathed to think what might happen if he couldn't fix it on time.

Draco moved to examine the cabinet when he heard a sound. Almost inaudible, barely there—but Draco, he heard it. His heart pounded in his ears as his mind retreated into a panicked—and usually useless in that state—platform. His eyes darted around for somewhere to hide. He spotted an old sofa tipped over on its side, and decided it would have to do.

Diving behind the rotting piece of furniture, Draco kept his ears peeled. He'd only ever been interrupted once before. Trelawney had come searching for a place to hide her sherry bottles, and Draco had thrown her out. He hadn't been one bit regretful over that, either. Once he figured out who had the gall to intrude on him this time, he'd do the same to them.

Whoever it was, they were getting closer. He heard a voice—was there more than one person? He wondered in dread. But no…there were no responses. Just one voice. He concluded that whoever it was—and it did sound feminine—she was speaking to herself.

"Idiot, what a complete idiot," the girl was ranting. "How utterly inconsiderate he is. Prancing around with Lavender, always connected by the lips. They wouldn't notice if they were walking straight off a cliff!"

It was Granger.

Draco could always recognize her voice. And she sounded thoroughly bothered. It twisted something fierce in the pit of his stomach. Of all the people to come to the Room of Hidden Things while he was there, it _had_ to be her. He was growing sweaty as he continued to listen to her.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she ground out. It was as if each syllable took a lot of effort for her to release. Draco heard a thump, and then a loud crash. He couldn't see what she was doing, but assumed that she'd either hit something and it knocked over, or she'd been the one to bump into something and was the one to fall over. Despite the pleasant thrumming in his chest, he hoped it had been the latter. Dumb Mudblood deserved that.

"Ow," she moaned. "Oh no, where's my wand?"

Draco gulped. She'd lost her wand. This would be the perfect chance for him to approach her, for him to kick her out.

She let out another sound of complaint. "Now I'll never find that Ancient Runes book Harry told me about."

So she was searching for something. And if what she'd said was anything to go by, Potter knew the Room of Hidden Things well enough to send his precious Mudblood here in search of something. That was not good, not good at all. Draco would have to be more careful from now on. That was something he could worry about later. For now, he had to do some housekeeping. Kick out the Mudblood.

"Granger," he sneered, appearing from behind the sofa. He had his wand trained on her. For her part, she was completely taken off guard by his sudden appearance. She squeaked in surprise, and fell back on her bottom. She'd been on her haunches, crouched low with her hands reaching below the stacks of rubbish in search of her wand—at least, he'd assumed it was the wand she was looking for. What kind of bloody fool would be searching for an Ancient Runes text down there?

"Malfoy," she breathed. "What are you doing here?" There was that familiar bite to her tone. The one that she always used when they would encounter each other.

"I could ask you the same, Mudblood," he smirked. "I was here first, wasn't I? And since you're wandless and I'm not, I would suggest you leave. Now."

"But—"

"Get the bloody fuck out of here," Draco glowered, advancing so that he loomed over her. Granger looked intent on rising to her feet, but with Draco's wand so near her face, she seemed to think better of it. He noticed that she was holding a large book in her hands—had she already found the blasted book? No, that wasn't possible, he rationalized. She'd only just mentioned how she wouldn't be able to find it without her wand. Knowing the dumb Mudblood, she'd probably brought the book with her. He wouldn't put it past her to enjoy the company of a book over Potter and Weasley.

"Let me just get my wand first," she said slowly, her glare a deep, muddy color.

"Accio wand," he said lazily. Granger's wand flew into his open palm and he closed his fingers over it.

Oh, if looks could kill.

"Malfoy, give me my wand," she said through grit teeth. Draco was pocketing her wand now, and immensely enjoying her reaction. Granger's face was flushed, her eyes narrowed, and there was a smearing of something fierce, something potent in her expression that made him feel mushy inside. She was determined. And seemingly _not_ intimidated. No, that would certainly not do.

"Leave this place, and I'll return you your wand," he said superiorly.

"As if, Malfoy," she scoffed. "Give me my wand. You know it's against school policy to steal another student's wand."

"And you would know that," he sneered. Dumb Mudblood probably had every school rule memorized since first year. Aside from her dirty blood, wouldn't her abysmal goody-two-shoes personality and complete lack of style set him off from her? Just what in God's name was it about her that made him feel like his insides were made of cream pudding? It was bloody stupid. "Besides, I'm not stealing anything. I'm kindly offering it back."

"In exchange for a bogus deal. I have every right to be here as you do," Granger retorted.

"Tsk tsk," he shook his head. This had to be the longest isolated conversation he'd ever had with the Mudblood, and he couldn't say he wanted it to end yet. "That's the problem with you Gryffindors. Think everything is entitled to you."

"You're acting quite defensive," she accused, finally on her feet. Granger brushed her robes off, and then extended her hand expectantly. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Draco recoiled from her as if she'd touched him. She was too bloody close. "Sod off. It's none of your business, that's what it is. Just get the hell out of here."

She squared her shoulders. "I don't think so. This place is big enough for the both of us to go about our business."

"That it's not," he said, growing irritated. "I will not "go about my business" in the same space as a Mudblood."

She didn't even have the decency to flinch at the insult. Had he worn it into her that much? Had she grown _immune_ to it? "Then you can leave if you feel like my presence is too much of a burden for you."

She was stalking closer to him, slowly. Her palm was still outstretched as if he would bend to her nasty Mudblood whim and actually forfeit her damn wand, just like that.

Draco soon found himself backed against the Vanishing Cabinet. If Granger moved any closer, she'd be able to reach into his robes and retrieve her wand. Now, he didn't expect her to have the gall to do that, but he didn't want to risk a closer proximity with her. He was already feeling light-headed. Sweat cropped up along his neck. Something thick was lodged in his throat, and just overall he felt like a lovesick jackass liable to melt into the ground if she so ever got one inch closer…

"Get away from me, Granger," he snarled, attempting to maneuver himself out of her reach.

"Give me my wand." There was a lilt to her words now; perhaps desperation? He could only hope. If that were the case, there still might be a chance of getting out of this unscathed.

"Leave, and then—"

Damn the Mudblood! She reached forward and attempted to stick her filthy hand into his robes. Draco jerked back. Her fingers brushed over the edge of his robe, but her movement had sent him railing against the Vanishing Cabinet. He heard something crack, splinter. Like wood breaking. Had he damaged the sodding piece of junk even more?

He cursed loudly.

Granger had retreated from him, as Draco quickly spun away from the cabinet. He circled around her, which inconveniently enough brought them into an opposite position. Her against the cabinet and him pinning her there, though he made no attempt to touch her or bind her there with his arms.

Granger's book was clutched to her chest as she peered at him with nervous eyes. She could see that he was angry. Good, the dumb Mudblood was observant. But, no…what did she think she was doing? She was leaning against the cabinet now, touching the spot he'd just slammed into…

"Get away FROM THE BLOODY CABINET!"

She stared at him, wide-eyed. It didn't take her long, though. They didn't call her the brightest witch of their age for nothing.

"This is why you're in here?" She asked incredulously.

Shit! Fuck! _No_. Granger was the last person he wanted to know about it. She'd probably skip off to Dumbledore's office right after this and tell him what Draco was doing in the Room of Requirement. She would ruin everything.

No, he couldn't let that happen. He had to fix this. Fix it now. Granger was already pinning him with a suspicious look. "What could you be doing with this cabinet, Malfoy?" She asked coolly, though he could tell she was anything but cool. She was intrigued, excited. What did the dumb Mudblood have to be excited about? He could see the cogs working in her brain, could see the logic churning across her expression. She was puzzling it out, wasn't she? The blasted witch was unraveling his secret as he himself unraveled in a floundering state of panic, all in front of her. He'd never felt more hatred, more physical, burning hatred for anyone than he did at that moment.

He made a split moment decision.

He Obliviated her.

And Draco only realized what a stupid idea that was until she'd collapsed into his arms and he was left with the daunting responsibility of taking care of her. He bloody well couldn't leave her there for someone else to find. But what _could_ he do? Draco had never cast that spell before and he had no idea exactly how much of her memory he'd just blasted away.

"Damn Mudblood," he grunted. She was heavy for how small she appeared. Her dead weight became too much for him, and he slowly—though he didn't know why he didn't just throw her across the flood—lowered her to the ground.

"Blimey," he muttered as he took in her appearance. Her eyes were wide, glassy, much like a mud-colored gem. "What can I do with you?"

The book she'd been holding when he cast the charm lay a few feet away from them. He noticed it was another Ancient Runes text. Merlin, what was her sudden fascination with the subject? He knew she took the class, but why was she in the Room of Hidden Things in search of a different one if she already had a perfectly adequate book of reference?

Whatever, that didn't matter. What did matter was waking the witch and deciding what to do with her.

"Granger," he said, gruffly shaking her shoulder. "Granger, wake up. Wake _up_."

She made no response.

"Dammit. _Rennervate_."

Granger's eyes fluttered open, and it took her a few seconds to regain her bearings before she took any notice to him.

"Who are you?"

A/N: No, he didn't erase her WHOLE memory. Trust me. The next chapter will be up soon. Please review, thanks.


	2. Your Delirium Is All I Need

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Thanks for the reviews!

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><p>Bloody hell.<p>

"Granger?" Draco asked uncertainly. Something fierce was shooting up and down his body. So fierce, it would seem, to render him a speechless prat. There were a million more productive things he could have employed in response to her idiotic question, and all he could manage was her name? Bloody fool he was.

She frowned, all of her delicate features scrunching up in the process. "I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I really don't know who you are…"

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, moving away from her as she rose to her feet. He stood a good distance from her, as if afraid her memory loss were contagious, and continued to access her with cold, impassive gray eyes. This was not good, not fucking good. Had he seriously just obliterated Granger's memory? He couldn't imagine a person worse for this situation than her. She was Potter's. Harry bloody POTTER'S…well, he didn't know the extent—or lack of?—their relationship reached to, and quite frankly hoped it wasn't beyond what he saw in classes or in the hall—but Merlin, none of that mattered, did it? If she were his bleeding house elf Draco would still be screwed. Not to mention Dumbledore's favoritism toward her…and McGonagall…and that oaf Hagrid…bloody hell, why did all of the teachers love this stupid Mudblood?

Suffice it to say, Draco was fucked.

His memory charm didn't seem to have any effect on her skills in observation, it seemed, as the damn Mudblood had taken a moment to inspect him. What was it that threw her off? His Slytherin tie? It must have been that, because now she was regarding him with a scowl, though tiny and somewhat wary of a scowl it was.

Well, at least that meant she hadn't forgotten everything, since she knew the connotations a mere tie could possess.

Granger was backing up now, frantically looking around the ground. He didn't know if she were searching for her wand or book.

Draco hesitated. He didn't know what he should do in this kind of situation. Here he was with a memory charmed Granger, completely clueless as to who he was, fumbling around in search for something he still had secured in his pocket. He had a few options, he realized. He could knock her out again—it was the most tempting of his options just for that very reason—and then dump her in the Forbidden Forest for a nice centaur treat. Or, since he didn't fancy killing her no matter how much he loathed the very existence of her kind, he could hide her. In fact, it seemed the only option. To hell with killing her. Murderers never prospered in the wizarding world unless they knew enough of the Dark Arts to cover their tracks, and even then it was a bit of a gamble.

That settled it. He would have to hide her…imprison her. Merlin, what a fuss this had turned into. Well, he reasoned with himself, he couldn't bloody well let her traipse through the castle as if nothing had happened. Someone was bound to find out that something was off with the Mudblood when she suddenly had no recollection of him—and honestly, who didn't know the Malfoys?—or God knows whatever he might've erased from that encyclopedia of a brain. No, that was decidedly out of the question.

So he was left with the kidnapping option. At least until he could figure out how to mend her memory, or fill in whatever gaps he may have inflicted in her precious little Mud-filled head. Dammit, just another thing he had to fix.

"Granger," he said, hoping to sound smooth, gentle, but cursing himself when the fear he felt transferred into his tone. "Hermione," he corrected himself. Oh God, addressing her by her first name like that…it was like eating the proverbial forbidden fruit. And oh was it sweet. He even said it again, for good measure. And perhaps because he liked it so much. "Hermione. My name is Draco Malfoy…I'm your…friend."

Befriending a Mudblood. This was rich, Draco, real rich.

But hadn't he always wondered what it would be like to be closer to her, even if she were a dirty Mudblood? He blamed that on his irrational and temporary attraction to her, nevermind that it had manifested a couple years ago and only served to grow stronger every year. But blimey, nevermind _that_.

She tilted her head as she considered him. "We're friends?"

Why was that so hard to believe?

"Yes," Malfoy answered immediately. He reached in his robe, at which she flinched, and withdrew her wand. He handed it over to her with little hesitancy. If he wanted her to trust him, he had to make sure that she had no reason to distrust him. Being manipulative and Slytherin in this situation would only move to alienate her. At least, any outward attempts to harangue her into something certainly offset her, which would mean he would have to be incredibly cunning about this. He had to make her a willing participant in her kidnapping. Or, bugger it all if that didn't work, he'd have to knock her out and do it the old-fashioned way, but he didn't exactly fancy levitating her through the corridors at this time of the evening.

"Why did you have my wand?" She asked carefully. Hermione's eyes studied her wand for a moment; her delicate hands stroked it, and then she was piercing him with her ever-perceptive eyes.

"We came here to look for that Ancient Runes book Potter told you about, don't you remember?" Draco asked, swallowing back the hitch in his voice. "You wanted me to hold your wand so you could climb that stack of rubbish over there."

Her brows knit together as she glanced toward the rubbish stack he'd pointed to. He had no idea how much she could remember, and hoped that what he was telling her wouldn't seem too far-fetched.

"I do remember coming here for that text…but why don't I remember who you are? Obviously if you're a student and a Slytherin prefect I would know you," Hermione mused, her eyes flicking to his prefect pinned to his chest as if that would have that answers.

"You fell from that stack and hit your head," Draco attempted to lie. "I couldn't catch you in time."

"But isn't it peculiar that my fall would make me forget only you?"

Damn this Mudblood woman! Any other person would have been eating this up without question, but she had to analyze everything to death, didn't she?

Draco shrugged. Sweat trickled uncomfortably down his back and the feeling of hot soup running through his insides and scalding him with its chunky, brothy liquid made him want to shudder. But he repressed it with great effort. He had to appear calm and unaffected by her questions otherwise she would notice something amiss. And he knew she would, because she was Hermione bloody Granger. "It's a curious thing, is it not? I say we go to the library and research it."

The slightest shift in her features alerted him to her interest, but it was so fleeting, hardly there, that he might've doubted that it _had_ been there if he didn't know her as well as he did. Granted there was enough about this Mudblood he didn't know—and shouldn't _want_ to know, but sod it all, did want to know—but it didn't take a bleeding genius to know that the Mudblood extraordinaire practically lived in the library. Draco would have believed it whole-heartedly, too, if he didn't suspect she would be horrified at the idea of eating the books, which therein meant she couldn't spend all her time there. But all of her free time, yes. That's where she could be found. Draco had even caught her many a times with her lonesome table cluttered in mountains of books and her nose buried deep in the spines of large texts that he was sure no one else had opened for over fifty years. He'd even been able to watch her, too, during her many times in the library, and because of her intense concentration in whatever it was she did with those books, he'd nearly gone each time without being noticed.

"But…" She seemed stuck between two options, though grudge it all Draco had no idea what those options could be. "Did we find the Ancient Runes text?"

Draco shook his head, extremely relieved she was playing along with his lie, even though the expression on her face told him that there was still some doubt there. Oh well, that could be fixed later.

"No," he shook his head, swallowing hard. Remember Draco, be nice…be…bloody hell… like Potter. Granger would never befriend a Slytherin, so how was she to believe they had been friends previously if he didn't act familiar, friendly with her? He groaned inwardly. What a jackass he was. He should've just knocked her out again. It would have made things so much simpler. "What was the title again? We can keep looking if you want."

"_Spells and Potions: An Ancient Rune Approach,_" she replied, bending over to pick up the book she'd come with.

Draco quirked a brow. What could she be looking for such a book for? He decided not to ask, though, for fear that it might damage his precarious lie of being friends with her. She would have told him why she wanted it if they were friends, wouldn't she? Draco wouldn't personally know. Slytherins weren't like that. They kept things to themselves, reveled in having secrets over their peers. Gryffindors seemed like the sharing type, though.

"So do you want to keep looking for it?" Draco was growing more nervous than before. How was he going to convince this little witch to go away with him? She couldn't go back to her common room; he couldn't permit that with her current state. "Or would you prefer turning in for the night? You promised me you would stay with me."

Her eyes widened, and a flush colored her cheeks. Merlin, what was she thinking? "What do you mean? I don't remember ever making such a promise. In fact…Draco, was it? I think it's time I go back to the Gryffindor tower. I'll come back for the book…"

"Hermione," he called out, catching her wrist before she could twist away and make her way for the door. "Don't you remember your promise? You were to…tutor me. I wasn't doing so well in Ancient Runes, but you said the only time would be tonight."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't remember making such a promise."

"You don't remember anything that has to do with me, do you?" He asked, suddenly aware of how close they were. This was playing it risky… "You wouldn't exactly remember a promise to me, in that case."

"I suppose…" she scowled, as if not wanting to believe it. "But it doesn't sound like something I would promise. No matter. Let's go to the library, then. Maybe we should stop by the infirmary and ask Madam Pomfrey for something to clear my head…"

"Hermione," he said, again tugging at her wrist as she tried to turn toward the door. "You promised we'd study in the Room of Requirement. You had to show me the Etching Technique and you told me it wasn't proper for the library."

Brilliant. Thank his demented father for raising him to think quick on his feet. If she agreed to stay with him in the Room of Requirement tonight it would give him more time to think of a more long-term arrangement…well, long enough for him to restore her memory.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, her book held protectively against her chest as she sized him up one final time. He imagined her to be wracking her brain for any tiny shred of a memory of him, but judging by the way she slumped in defeat, his memory charm had been thorough and she couldn't come up with anything. "All right, but I can't imagine why I would agree to tutoring so late. Let's get out of the Room of Hidden Things so the room can transform into something better suited to our purposes."

Ah, Granger's business-like tone. He was used to hearing that during the prefect meetings. She was never short of suggestions, and he had actually grown tired of hearing all the tiny little ways she thought they could improve the way things were run around the castle. Now, however, he greeted it gleefully. It meant she was reverting back to her usual self, if not little by little.

When they stepped outside the Room of Hidden Things Draco was a ball of nerves. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever been so afraid. Hell, even his short stints during the Death Eater meetings he'd not been as afraid as he was when he stood in the hall with Granger. What if someone came along, like Filch or the patrolling prefects? Or worse yet, a Slytherin, or one of her idiotic Gryffindor friends? He'd be over. Instantly and painfully, over.

Granger had wanted to do the pacing in front of the Room of Requirement, but Draco declared he wanted to and pushed her out of the way before she even had the chance. He realized it might not have been the best way to deal with the situation, especially if her glowering response was anything to go by, but he had to make sure the room that appeared was perfect. He couldn't have anyone stumbling upon them. For some reason he had a feeling more students than usual knew about the room now, and if he wasn't careful someone might grow wise to the fact that Granger was missing and the room was continuously in use. In that case, he paced back and forth in front of the room, thinking to himself, _We need a place to live and practice the Etching Technique without anyone looking for Granger or myself able to come upon us_.

The door appeared just as a shadow appeared at the end of the hall. Draco's heart leaped into his throat and he roughly grabbed Granger by the shoulder and shoved her into the room before she had the chance to complain. He closed it tightly behind him and sank against it, breathing hard and wiping the sweat from his brow. He hadn't glimpsed who the person had been, but damn that had been close. Too close for comfort.

"What's with the bed?" Granger asked in a huff.

Draco looked up to see what the room had transformed into. It was a large, spacious place with the back section of the room dedicated to living quarters. It had a large king-size bed set up in a corner, a small kitchenette across from it, and a table, a desk, a bookshelf adorning the living space as well. On the other side was a wide-open floor of white polished marble edged in a black, wiry sort of netted floor. He supposed it was meant for their use of the Etching Technique, though he had included that merely to hold up his lie and not for actual use. The bed and kitchenette, however, were going to be hard to explain. What could he say? That he planned on keeping her there for an undetermined amount of time against her wish? Definitely not. He would have to make it worth her while. And worth her while it would be, he grinned to himself. He just thought of the most brilliant way to do it, too.

"Hermione, the room must have misunderstood me," he said smoothly, walking over to glance over the titles in the bookshelf. "I merely wanted a place for you to rest in case your head still hurt from your fall. And look, this place even stocked us with some potion ingredients if you'd like me to make you something to clear your head."

"Why can't I just go to the Hospital Wing?" She sent him a dubious look.

"Do you doubt my potion skills?"

"Are you trying to tell me you're better at healing potions than Madam Promfrey?" She countered, arms crossed over her chest.

He forced himself to snicker instead of sneer. "Hermione, you really need your memory fixed if you can't remember that I could give that woman a run for her money."

"Somehow I find that doubtful," she grumbled, placing her Ancient Runes text down on the table and spreading out across the bed. Draco told himself she was only saying that because perhaps the dumb Mudblood couldn't brew anything remotely acceptable, but damn her if she was doubting his skills in potions. He would prove her wrong with his Sleeping Draught. And the Mudblood would never even know it was such, either. He'd learned how to disguise it from Snape earlier in the year.

And then when she woke in the morning, the real challenge would be in convincing her to skip her classes…But it would be okay as long as his plan worked. Oh bugger, of course it would work. He wasn't a Slytherin for nothing.

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><p>AN: The Etching Technique is something I made up. More on that later. It will have something to do with the plot. This story will work a lot with Ancient Runes mixing with magic, so it does have a plot, it's not just a Draco-kidnapping-Hermione thing, not that I don't enjoy those stories too :) By the way, please review if you want faster updates. I can update in 3-4 days instead of once a week if I get more reviews. Thanks!


	3. Purple Lie

Hermione was surprised to wake up somewhere other than her own dormitory. It took her a minute to realize where exactly she was, and only after her memories of last night came flooding back did she know.

She'd gone to the Room of Hidden Things in search of that Ancient Runes text… then she'd fallen… there was a blank spot in her memory after that, and then Draco—

Oh, _bugger_. How could she have been such a fool? He was a Slytherin. It didn't matter that he claimed them to be friends or not—she couldn't think of one pair of Gryffindor and Slytherin that were friends, much less civilized with each other. The match simply didn't go well. They were like water and fire, or day and not. They were on opposite sides of the spectrum for a reason; mixing the two had to be some form of taboo. What did you get if you added water to fire? The result was steam, and no one liked steam, did they? It made your skin all sweaty, and your hair a nightmare—well, Hermione didn't like steam, that was for sure.

"You're up," Draco said.

Hermione started, pulling the blankets up closer around her. He was lounging on the chair in the kitchenette, leaning back in it as he assessed her with a chilly gaze of silver. His feet were propped up on the small table, his tie was loosened from its knot and lay limp around his neck, and his expression was tightened, as if he were unsettled.

"What are you—I mean… how did I…"

Draco smirked. "I never expected the Know-It-All Wonder of Hogwarts was this articulate in the mornings. Perhaps you need some more sleep? Honestly I can't understand what you're trying to say if you sit there and insist to mumble like a bloody house elf—"

"And you're absolutely delightful in the mornings as well, if I may add," she frowned at him. This couldn't be right… he'd said they were friends, but he seemed thoroughly upset with her. She supposed it was natural for close friends, since she was always snapping at Ron and Harry—mostly Ron though—but there was just something about him that made her not want to trust him.

"Anyway," Hermione continued before Draco could interject, "what time is it? Oh no! Did I miss breakfast? My classes? Oh, bugger we had an assignment to turn into Professor Flitwick this morning—"

"Breakfast is long gone," Draco smirked. "As well as morning classes. I suppose we should just start on that tutoring, then? You were so knackered last night that we really didn't get the chance, and you know…being the friend… of yours that I am, I let you have your rest."

"Are you mad? I can't miss anymore of my classes!" she screeched, jumping out of the bed, completely forgetting that she'd slept in her uniform and that it was pressed with wrinkles. She dashed to the door, but Draco was out of his chair in a second and clutching at her wrist. Hermione cried out as he yanked her back—her fingertips just barely grazing the door handle—and tugged her against his chest. He glared down into her face with an expression that sent her heart thudding through her chest, and she held it, determined not to look away.

"You can't go out there," he uttered. His voice fell on an order, and she didn't like the way he was still holding her so tightly. "It's… dangerous, for you."

Hermione tore herself out of his hold and glowered at him. "What do you mean, dangerous? The only dangerous thing is staying here with a Slytherin that I don't even know. I'm going, and you can't stop me."

She made for the door again, but Draco was quicker—well, quicker, and he had his wand out. Hermione faltered. Where was her wand? She must have left it at the bedside with her robe…

"Gr—Hermione…" he said silkily, now standing between her and the door. He was lazily pointing his wand at her, but she didn't doubt that he could hit her with a curse in a second if he wished. He just exuded this sort of feeling that made him seem a little dangerous. It was something about his expression, something about how his eyes glinted in liquid silver. It was so hard to read, but also so hard to not read. There were fragments of certain emotions trapped in that gaze, frayed and scattered, but they were there nonetheless. It made her think that he was trying to hide them from her, but wasn't exactly the best at keeping them at bay. His words, however, were edged with steel, which dispelled any weakness she may have noticed in his gaze.

"Are you telling me you forgot more than just me with that bump to your head?"

"What are you talking about?" she fumed, crossing her hands over her chest. There was nothing she could do when he was armed and she wasn't. She silently berated herself for forgetting her wand. So much for constant vigilance when it was needed most.

"Hogwarts… it's not safe for mud—muggleborns. Don't you recall, Hermione? The school's been taken over by the Death Eaters."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe you. I think I would've remembered something like that."

He stalked closer to her, eyes locked onto hers. "Are you so certain? You forgot me, what's to say you didn't forget other important details in your life?"

"The fact that I forgot you should make it obvious that you are not important in my life," she seethed.

"Hermione, that hurts—I can't believe you've forgotten everything we've done together—"

Hermione grew alarmed. "What have we done together, then? We're not… you know…" she blushed, growing nervous. "We weren't together or anything, were we?"

Draco seemed surprised. Then disgusted. Then amused. He laughed. "We were friends, Hermione. Good friends."

"But you're _Slytherin_—"

"And you're _Gryffindor_, but here we are," Draco said bemusedly. "I thought you holier-than-thou Gryffindors liked to pretend that houses don't matter. Ah, wait, that only applies if the person _isn't _Slytherin."

She scowled. "It doesn't matter—it's just that you Slytherins can't ever get along with anyone—

"Right, it's the Slytherins' fault. It's always their fault. They're all evil bastards with evil bastard parents—"

"No," Hermione interjected, growing impatient. "That's not what I meant! You have to look at this logically. Why would we be friends? Gryffindor and Slytherin have always been natural enemies. Can you tell me when they've ever gotten along—aside from when the founders used to be friends?"

"You're so bloody narrow-minded for someone so smart! Open your eyes, Granger," he shouted, and she couldn't help notice he sometimes slipped into using her surname, which made her wonder, "we were friends at one point. Isn't that good enough? And I'm sure there have been others who got along before us. Why would I make this up? What could I benefit from by lying that we were friends?"

"That's a trait that Slytherins pride themselves on," she argued. Draco was pacing around her in small circles, his wand still out, and he never took his eyes off of her as he made his rounds. It made her uneasy, and she averted her eyes to the ground. "They're manipulative—opportunists. They will control someone to their benefit if the chance is there. It's just the natural way of things, like Gryffindors and Slytherins don't get along—"

"You're a hypocrite, Granger," he said, his voice deathly low as he continued his circling. His wand was skimming across her now—its tip grazed across her neck, up her jaw line, and then swooped down to skim over the back of her wrinkled shirt. When he reached the front of her once more, the wand would prod at her neck once more, drawing invisible lines across her skin as she stood there anxiously. She didn't know what to make of him now. He was angry, but not only that, he was intent. There was a hard determination about him that made her feel like she was trying to move a brick wall with her hands. A brick wall with a wand, no less. "What happened to your S.P.E.W. campaign? What about those bloody house elves you wanted to have freedom? Didn't you realize that them working for wizards is the natural way of things? When has it ever been different? You claim that a Slytherin and Gryffindor friendship would break the conventions of what normal is, but what exactly are you trying to do with your campaign? I see no difference."

He stopped in front of her, finally ceasing his circling, with his wand pointed at her throat. He leaned in with a dark look controlling his features, and then whispered, "I am your new campaign. At least, that's what you told me when you offered your friendship during the end of last year."

Hermione swallowed hard. It sounded awfully far-fetched, but at the same time it made sense. She was being horribly hypocritical, and she was disappointed in herself. She'd always told herself that if a Slytherin ever wished to be civil with her, she would jump at the opportunity. Here it was, and she was throwing it away, acting like—well, like Ron would. And she was not pleased with him these days.

Besides, he had to be a friend if he knew how to say S.P.E.W. correctly. Not even Harry or Ron tried.

"You're… you're right," she said after a long silence. "I suppose I should give you the benefit of the doubt…."

She didn't know what to say after that. Her mind traveled back to the Room of Hidden Things, and she frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about though…I don't remember Hogwarts falling to the Death Eaters. It wouldn't make sense that we're all still here, if that were the case…"

"All of the students are prisoners," he said haltingly. "The Death Eaters are keeping the teachers under Imperio so that classes continue."

Hermione's eyes widened. "But… why would they want to do that? Where's Harry? Oh my, please tell me he's okay."

Draco looked somewhat disturbed, but he nodded. "Potter, he's here. The Death Eaters run the school, and since the Dark Lord has a special interest in him…well, they're not allowed to touch him. All they have to do is make sure that he stays on the grounds. Same with all the other students."

"Where is the Order of the Phoenix, why aren't they doing anything? How did they infiltrate the school with Dumbledore here?"

Hermione was growing frantic.

"Driven out of the school," Draco answered.

"But—oh, I need to see it, Draco. Please, I want to go out. I need to talk to Harry," Hermione said hurriedly, trying to move around him. Draco stepped into her path and she ran into him. She looked up into his face to see hard silver staring down at her.

"I can't let you go out there, Hermione… the Death Eaters—they don't like muggleborns. They treat your lot the worst. I couldn't handle seeing them mistreat you any longer, so I decided to bring you here. I want you to stay here until it's safe for you to go out there…"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why did you lie before, then? You said you wanted to come here to study Ancient Runes."

His eyes flashed, and then he moved forward and grabbed her wrist. He tugged at the white sleeve of her school uniform, among her protests, and exposed the skin of her forearm. It was purple and bruised.

Hermione gasped.

"You see? They especially like picking on you, with your connection to Potter. It wasn't a lie, before," he said, gesturing to the ground where the set up for the Etching Technique lay. "I just didn't have time to explain it. I was afraid someone might find us. The room knew what I wanted, though. Look—you were going to teach me the Etching Technique. Hermione, don't you remember? You told me you wanted to use Ancient Runes to drive the Death Eaters out of the castle because it's the only form of untraceable magic. It's the only way we can overpower them without them finding out."

It did match, didn't it? Why else would she seek out such an old Ancient Runes text? Their school's required book didn't cover anything nearly as advanced as the Etching Technique…

"But still… how did I plan for use the use the runes? It might take use forever to actually create a combination powerful enough to work against them, and even then would need a place to etch it—"

Draco grinned. "That's where I come in, dear Granger. Once I fix that Vanishing Cabinet, we can travel through it and bring the Order into Hogwarts to take it back. We'll need your runes to fix it, though."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "That's a brilliant plan, Draco. But—we need that book from the Room of Hidden Things."

* * *

><p>Coming up with the lie had been easy enough, simply because it had been a perversion of the truth. He wasn't mending the cabinet to let the Order in—he was doing it to let the Death Eaters in. Leading her to believe that the halls of Hogwarts were crawling with Death Eaters was the perfect way to keep her in the room, and also an ingenious way to give himself the luxury of being safe enough to go in and out. After all, it <em>was<em> just a lie, and the professors and the scarhead would be bustling around in search of their precious Mudblood sooner or later. If he was missing too it would instantly throw suspicion on him, and while he was mending the cabinet it was of the utmost importance that no one looked at him with the slightest degree of mistrust lest he wanted someone to discover his mission.

Draco had gone a step further with his lie. It had started out as a white lie—a quick way to get her hidden and out of the way, and then it had transformed into something colossal. Something he would classify as a purple lie. It was a term that Snape had inspired in him, not on the professor's intention of course, and Draco couldn't help using it whenever he got the chance. It was when they were brewing a potion for Snape's class, and Snape had gone around harassing everyone that none of them had managed to create the right shade of purple that Draco got the idea of the term. The purpose of the potion was to prevent the drinker from telling lies for twenty four hours, and as a result force them to spew out the truth instead. It often resulted in embarrassing confessions or cruel critiques of the people around the person.

Snape had tested Granger's potion on Longbottom, much to the Slytherins' delight, and Draco had always wondered if he'd done that because he knew Granger, out of anyone else, would have brewed it correctly, but regardless of Snape's intentions, for the following twenty four hours the castle had been harassed with Longbottom's embarrassing truths. It had actually grown tiring, and it made Draco grateful for the lies that people put out everyday in order to remain civil and likeable.

This was the same thing to some degree. Merely a lie to keep things civil and as normal as possible. While pretending that the castle was besieged with Death Eaters wasn't exactly _normal_, he'd made it normal in her head, and now it was up to Draco to maintain that reality, at least until he finished his mission.

And bonus—now he wouldn't have to mend the bloody thing on his own. He would have Granger's help. He couldn't've asked for a brainier—or more appealing—assistant. The only drawback was all the time he'd have to spend with her. He'd told her he wanted to learn the damn runes, so now he was forced to follow through with that. Plus, he could still detect a hint of distrust in her demeanor, and it wouldn't do for that to fester. He would have to vamp up the Malfoy charm in order to have her giggling over his jokes, telling him secrets, and asking for his advice, like a friend should. Like… the type of relationship he'd never had before.

Slytherins weren't exactly the buddy-buddy type, and Draco hoped that he would be able to fake it, for his own sake, and for the sake of his mission.

Besides, deep down, he relished the alone time he would be able to spend with her. It fed his dark obsession for her, and he figured if he was in her presence instead of lurking around bookshelves and spying on her in the library, or pining after her in classes his extra steam would simmer out and he wouldn't be distracted by her anymore. His thoughts wouldn't get clogged up by this Mudblood's impossibly likeable face. His dreams wouldn't haunt him with her musky book smell, or of her sweet shampoo…

"We can't get the bloody book while we're using the Room of Requirement," Draco said, after Hermione had finally moved away from the door. Thank Merlin, too, because her proximity was sending his head all dizzy and he didn't like it one bit.

She was making the bed, and stepped into the small bathroom that the room had provided, leaving the door slightly ajar so that she could still converse with him. "And it's far too dangerous to go out there again. Someone nearly saw us last time."

He shuddered. Draco still couldn't figure who it was, but he desperately hoped that the person hadn't recognized the two of them. It would instantly ruin everything.

"Well, we need that book if you want to learn the Etching Technique, and quite frankly, we need to master it if we ever hope to do any serious rune work," Granger replied as she reappeared. Her clothes were wrinkle-free, her hair was brushed, and her face looked clean and fresh.

She looked riveting, absolutely riveting. Damn those Gryffindor colors suited her so well. A mental image of her in Slytherin green and silver—_his_ green and silver—caused a smirk to play along his lips.

"Is there a way to get into the Room of Hidden Things while we're still in the Room of Requirement?" Draco mused. "Because we'll also need frequent access to the cabinet, to mend it."

Granger nodded, giving him a strange look. It must've been his damn smirk—he wiped it away immediately, moving closer to the door. "That's true… but from what I've read about this room, the occupants can only use one or the other, not both at the same time. Perhaps there's a way to link the two together, like if while we're pacing in front of the Room of Requirement, we include in our description that we want access to the Room of Hidden Things also."

Draco groaned. "But that would involve us going out into the hall again."

"It may be our only chance," Granger shrugged.

"Fine," he relented after a minute. "But we have to wait until late—really late."

"Hey—I just thought of this…" Granger frowned. It was funny how her features scrunched up when she did that. "Won't the Death Eaters wonder where I am? I can't just hide here forever…"

"Actually, they won't care," Draco said dismissively. "A few other mud—muggleborns have gone mysteriously missing and they don't question it. They probably assume they got lost in the Forbidden Forest or something."

"That's awful!"

Draco resisted the urge to smirk. "Well, I have to run off to the rest of my classes. Lunch just ended. I'll be back after dinner. You can keep yourself contained until then, right?" he asked, shooting her a meaningful look. It was a look that warned her she should not go wandering out of the room.

With a resigned sort of sigh, Granger nodded. "I'll just read my Ancient Runes text book. I'm sure there's a combination or two that I haven't memorized yet…"

With a snort Draco left the room. This was the scariest part—going in and out. What if someone was walking by, and saw him slipping out of the Room of Requirement? He would be toast—bloody burnt and crumbled toast, to be specific. He realized his visits to Granger would have to be limited during the day, and he would only be able to see her during nights. Bloody hell, he was going to need more time than a couple hours at night to master those blasted runes.

He would need to think of something else, and fast.

Draco had Potions, so he headed for the dungeons. He was looking forward to this class because it was Slytherin and Gryffindor. He was certain scarhead and the weasel would be worried about Granger's disappearance, and he wanted to eavesdrop on them. He wanted—no _needed_—to know what they thought about it. Those two would need a lot of watching, and Draco worried that he may not be enough.

During class Draco chose to sit directly in front of the two gits. They took notice, too, and sneered at him as he sat down. Draco instinctively returned their greetings with a sneer of his own, and waited for Blaise to arrive.

Once class started and everyone had settled and started their potions, the students grew chatty. Blaise attempted to draw Draco into discussion over Pansy and Daphne Greengrass, but Draco ignored him. He was straining on listening to Potter and Weasley's conversation, and if he wasn't mistaken, he thought he heard them mention his puffy-headed Mudblood assistant.

"This isn't like her," Potter was whining. "She would never miss a class, especially when an assignment is due."

"True, she had that essay written two weeks ago," Weasley added. "Do you suppose she's in trouble?"

"I think I should—you know… check the map. If she's not on the grounds, we need to tell Dumbledore," Potter said, dropping his voice. Draco almost didn't hear him, but he did catch something about a map. What was he talking about? He recalled Snape mentioning to him once that he suspected Potter of owning a map that charted where everyone was in the school, but Draco had never thought it to be a big deal. Potter snuck around all the time without getting in trouble—he was bound to have something to help him out. Not to mention Draco's suspicion from third year, that Potter owned an Invisibility Cloak…

This would prove a lot more difficult than Draco ever expected.

"…snogging Pansy wouldn't be so bloody awful if she stopped talking while I'm trying to stick my tongue in her mouth, right, mate?"

Draco grimaced. "Why are you ruining my day with a discussion on snogging Pansy of all people? It's revolting."

Blaise smirked. "You used to like that topic, if I recall."

Draco shot his friend—as close to a friend as he had, at least—a dirty look before he turned back to his potion. "I have more important things to worry about."

Blaise scoffed. "As if."

Blaise was the only one who Draco could put up with these days, but lately he was more irritating than Crabbe and Goyle. At least those two didn't have enough brain cells to rub together to ever say anything that would piss Draco off. They were as dumb as dirt. Blaise, though, he was different. He was intelligent, witty, and almost an even match with Draco. It was one of the reasons Draco never got too close to him. That sort of bond, especially between two male Slytherins, would only prove disastrous in the end. No, Draco liked their relationship how it was. They were allies, and nothing more. They shared a certain degree of trust, but it didn't go beyond that. Sometimes Blaise would imply that he wanted to be friends, but Draco would always act uninterested. Blaise had no idea what kind of pressure Draco was under because he wasn't a Death Eater, and that was a can of worms Draco did not feel like confessing.

"Did you hear about Granger, then? She's gone missing," Blaise said after a moment of silence. "I can't say I'm as heartbroken as the Gryffindors, but I am a little down. Hogwarts is so dull these days. Throw in a Mudblood drama once in a while and things get lively, but I wasn't even the one to think of it. I'm disappointed that whoever is behind this didn't include me."

And then an idea struck Draco. He needed someone to help him on the outside—someone to watch Potter and Weasley. Blaise might just be the perfect candidate, too. He was fiercely loyal to his own—meaning the Slytherins—and he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut about the more important things. Blaise—he would bring a level of discretion and even grace to this sort of job that Draco needed. And best of all, he wouldn't ask questions. At least, that's what Draco was counting on when he cornered the boy after class.

* * *

><p>AN:

1. Sorry for the late update. I was busy with my original work. If you're interested, it's **free** on Amazon for today. Check it out on my profile, you'll like it!

2. This chapter was longer! Future chapters will be this length and longer.

3. I apologize if any canon info was too skewed. This is how it'll have to be for the story.

4. Let me know what you think. I'll be updating every three days from now on.

5. Oh, and yes, I changed my username.


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